


One More Lap

by WindwiseWords



Series: Xenogen City [9]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mentor/Protégé, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Acceptance, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 14:59:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8332165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindwiseWords/pseuds/WindwiseWords
Summary: Hot Shot gets picked on by a few 'cons, and Optimus has to pick up the pieces.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Was a little hard to write this one because halfway through I lost what I was doing because its lunch time and food had a stronger calling than writing. So Hot Shot got lunch too. Literally the only reason.
> 
> Hey, I love me some comments! If you got a question about the story or anything related to my Xenogen series feel free to ask. Really I just love hearing myself talk I think. But at least i'm honest about that :D

“One more lap!” Hot Shot demanded, to himself more than the few bots looking on the practice track. “Come on!” Things were in the orange, such as internal heat and his tank fuel as well as his reserve tank. He could use new tires, but this was for endurance.

He could hear the mocking of Whirl in his head, that he was all bark, no bite, and couldn’t ever keep up with the rest of the bots. No endurance, Barricade commented while beating Whirl down. Just for the excuse to throw his weight around, but it had bought Hot Shot time to get out of there before Prime came around the corner with Bumblebee.

Bumblebee, the only other grounder his age, and a very close friend. Bumblebee’s voice may still have been on the fritz but Hot Shot got a good enough idea of his friend’s mannerisms to talk and listen. But Bumblebee hated when he got into a scrap with the ‘cons, not because he cared about the ‘cons but more because he cared about the peace.

If they were brothers, Bumblebee was the good twin, Hot Shot the bad, and Optimus Prime the sire that desperately tried to teach them when to stand down and when to take it up a notch.

As Hot Shot hit the arced turn of the track, he felt himself slide even more than the time before. Tread wore dangerously smooth, his HUD flashing into the red with regard to heat and fuel. Suddenly there was a sharp hiss, then a pop, and Hot Shot found himself rolling through the air. On instinct he figured his tire was shot, and transformed. Only with fuel so low his movements were too sluggish to catch himself and he rolled through the wall, off the high edge, and down onto a road that went under the track.

The bots in the stands that had been watching rushed over to the hole in the wall and a pair of lithe seekers jumped down. They were Vosnian, Hot Shot’s spinning processor registered, but much too small. The pair bickered in small clicks and chirps before pulling Hot Shot off the road and to the side. They flicked their wings in agitation with each other, unsure how to treat an overheating grounder.

“Hot Shot!” The voice was deep, familiar; his mind slowly registered it was Optimus Prime. _Just what I need,_ Hot Shot groaned out loud and thought privately. “I got him. Thank you.” The twin seekers watched as Optimus hauled the smaller yellow bot up around his shoulder and walked him slowly down the road. They were going back to Central Command, not really a command center of any sort. It was where the grounder Officers, and Hot Shot, built their quarters.

“ ‘m _fine,_ Big Bot.” Hot Shot insisted, but didn’t pull away.

“Your core temperature is almost hot enough to start popping circuits. I don’t call that fine. What were you thinking? You’re usually a bit less careless than this!” In front of the men, Optimus treated Hot Shot like his apprentice. Alone or out of formal space, Optimus was more like a sire-figure, or a doting mentor if more strict action was needed. “I’ve half a mind to take you to Ratchet.”

Hot Shot stiffened instantly, the CMO always rough on him due to Hot Shot’s arrogant and cocky behavior. He would rather Red Alert tend his injuries, or even Knock Out. At least he and Knock Out had speed in common, as he learned after challenging the red medic to a race. Ever since Knock Out tentatively considered Hot Shot on his ‘okay’ list.

“Endurance.” Hot Shot grumbled out, provoking a questioning stare from his leader. “Barricade said I didn’t have any endurance. I was getting some.”

“It seems to me you were trying to break yourself.” Optimus sighed, frustrated that Hot Shot still tried to measure up to others’ expectations. Others that didn’t matter. “Hot Shot, you are the best shot at high speeds. And you are the second fastest bot on four wheels.” Next to Override, who Hot Shot accepted he wouldn’t beat for many years to come. That didn’t stop him from trying but he didn’t beat himself up about it anymore. “You don’t have to be something more, something you’re not.”

“But if I could be more, then I’d be more a credit to you… And the team.” He quickly added, but not fast enough. Optimus Prime stopped and looked at the more unruly of his yellow students.

“This is about Bumblebee isn’t it? Hot Shot I’ve told you before—“

“Its _not about Bumblebee_!” Hot Shot gritted his teeth and ripped his arm away from Optimus, standing as firm as he could with his processor still spinning from his fall. “It’s about _me being useful._ Bumblebee isn’t even around! He’s off with that human guy doing Primus knows what. They’re attached at the hip servo!” Hot Shot kicked the ground, lost balance and found himself at the mercy of Optimus’ grip again.

Optimus pulled him up and gripped him hard by the shoulders. Hot Shot froze, knowing that stare meant he had said something that crossed the line of ‘self-improvement to self-loathing.’ Hot Shot had no confidence problems until someone challenged his credibility to the team and Optimus knew it.

“Hot Shot.” The tough sire voice, and Hot Shot looked Optimus in the eye before he was forced to. “There is nothing wrong with trying to gain some new skills in other areas. But running yourself into the red _will_ cause you to be detrimental to our team. I know I put a lot on you, and a lot on Bumblebee, when I asked you to take on the fourth rank. You’re young.” He paused, thinking on his words carefully. “But you’re not too young to do this, to help build Xenogen. I put a lot of trust into you, Hot Shot, because I knew Bumblebee wasn’t ready for it. He’s a guardian, not a leader. You have the spark for leadership.”

Hot Shot stared numbly and listened. He pulled a stupid move again. He got jealous over his brother-in-arms, jealous that Bumblebee seemed to be out slacking off and still got Optimus’ praise when Hot Shot worked hard and got the same.

It wasn’t like that at all, Hot Shot concluded. Bumblebee was protecting something, while he was building Xenogen to be self-protected.

 

“Sorry Big Bot.” Hot Shot mumbled after a few dozen steps in silence. “I got carried away.”

“Yes you did, but I too am sorry.” Optimus squeezed his smaller student in a sort of sideways hug. “I should have recognized the signs you were under stress this morning. It’s not like you to _not_ fall asleep during a briefing. I think you made Prowl suspicious, he didn’t have to throw anything at you once.”

There was Optimus’ humor, trying to lighten up the situation. Sarcastic, somewhat dry humor but it managed to make Hot Shot smile. Which of course made Optimus smile, and as thy made it into the gate of Central Command, Optimus nudged him onto his own two feet. The pair walked in content silence to Hot Shot’s quarters, painted with racing in mind: checker patterns, flags, and even detailed ‘roads’ to and from doors that were polished so he could slide.

Hot Shot complained once secretly to Bumblebee that the room made him feel like a sparkling. Bumblebee just rolled his eyes and slid across the floor himself, making his happy whirring noise. It was all about fun; Hot Shot was all about fun.

Optimus keyed open the room and sat Hot Shot on the couch, then went to raid the fridge of a kitchenette—Hot Shot never cooked, so there was no need for a full kitchen—for energon. It gelled up at cold temperatures, but that’s the way Hot Shot liked it.

After getting him set up with a blanket and the cool jelly drink, Optimus went back to the door. His hand caught on the frame and he looked back. “Make sure to wrap up when the chills set in.”

“You got it Optimus.” Hot Shot murmured, swallowing half the drink and relishing the feel of cooling internals.

“And call me if they don’t stop in two hours.”

“Okay, Big Bot.” Hot Shot chuckled, grinning as Optimus’ stare narrowed approvingly at the endearing term.

“Don’t forget to—“

“Primus, just go back to your office before Prowl thinks you died somewhere on your daily walk!” Hot Shot laughed and Optimus chuckled, walking out and closing the door.

So maybe Hot Shot wasn’t the most enduring bot on the squad, and maybe he wasn’t the most heavily armored either. He downed the last of the cold semi-solid energon and lay back on the couch to rest. As long as Optimus approved of him, he knew for sure he was doing well.

Tomorrow, he’d challenge Barricade to a race. One lap, just to prove that where he lacked endurance he could drive circles around any ‘Bot or ‘con. One lap just to solidify his confidence. One lap more so he could be one lap more useful to his leader. He rested his optics closed, and began to theorize on taunts to poke at Barricade during the race.


End file.
